Feeling's Not Enough
by LVOWL
Summary: Nothing's worse than the headache that comes with a person suppressing their emotions. And now after an accident with a motorcyclist, I have one following me! I think I'll go mad if I don't lose him but it'll be much worse if he catches up to me! Logan/OC
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I don't own the X-men or anything you recognize!

AN: This is my first X-men story! Woohoo! Prologue is so short though! Blah! But I threw in a subtle Doctor Who reference so it's all good. :]

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><p><strong>Feeling's Not Enough<strong>

Prologue

I should have known something wasn't right. There were so many clues thrown at me but I was so oblivious, so engulfed in my day to day life that I never gave them a second thought. If I had maybe I'd be somewhere else than where I am now. Where was I? It's embarrassing to admit it, there's really no dignified way of saying that you're hiding under bags of trash in a dumpster. Yeah, you heard me right. There I was, buried under a week's worth of garbage, hoping that no one would find me. You might be wondering how I came upon my current predicament so I guess I'd better fill you in. I've got some time to kill in here anyways.

Starting at the beginning would be helpful, huh? Or better yet, telling you my name? You'd think an introduction would be easy but not for me. Well, not anymore. I've gone by several different names, all depending on where I was and who I was talking to but since I'm being honest here, I'll give you my birth name, my _real_ name. Matleena Hannele Laaksonen. What? Were you expecting something along the lines of Sarah Jane Smith? I don't think so.

It's hard for me to pinpoint the beginning without going back too far. Was it when I was born? Or when I woke up one day with my ears pierced and didn't know how it happened? Or perhaps when I noticed that my fingernails where perfectly manicured despite my horrid nail biting habit. Maybe it was when I got my first computer at age fourteen and took it apart, much to my father's horror, and then put it back together without a chip out of place. Like I said, there were so many small things that hinted at my condition, it's difficult to determine which was more important. Okay, enough stalling, I'll begin already. I'll start with the one indication that I couldn't ignore: the day I went blind.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One: Something Shared

I woke up very early, as usual. I lay in bed for a moment, listening to the sounds of the morning. A few birds had woken up outside, making low noises as they whispered to the others nearby. The ticking of my bedside clock was quite loud in the relative silence. I glanced at it, noting that it was just after five. A loud snore interrupted my tranquil state and I laughed. My father snored so loud, I could hear him down the hall. I threw off my warm covers and shivered in the cool air, feeling the hair on my arms raise.

"Good morning," I smiled, looking at my mother's picture on my bedside table. I picked it up and kissed the glass covering, something I did every day, before heading into the bathroom to shower.

My mother, Ilona Laaksonen, died a few weeks after I was born. My father found her when he came home from work. She was lying on our couch, with her shirt half unbuttoned and me next to her. My father said I was sleeping soundly and probably didn't even witness her death. I was too young to form memories even if I had witnessed it but I'd like to think she was sleeping too. We both dozed off and only one of us woke up. Apparently, she had a heart condition and it suddenly gave out on her one day while I was nursing. The doctor said that it was quick and painless. I guess that was meant to comfort. I don't want to think of her like this though; I'd rather focus on her life.

I have no memories of her, no real ones anyway. Sometimes I'd make up happy memories of us together. Her pushing me on a swing or chasing each other or laughing while making cookies. Kind of sad, huh? I got to know her through old pictures and home videos; there was actually one with me in it! She was singing _Kehtolaulu_, a beautiful song, while rocking me in her arms. It used to make me smile but now, I can't watch it without crying. Looking at us, you couldn't tell we were mother and daughter. She had beautiful golden blonde hair that bounced and curled perfectly but I got stuck with my father's mousy brown hair. I had his eyes too, a light brown that almost looked hazel in the right lighting as well as his eyebrows which were a little too thick for my liking. I wish I had my mother's green eyes. I tried using color contacts before but it just didn't work well.

I've tried imitating her many times on many different aspects but none worked out. Her graceful way of walking was impossible for me to copy. I ended up looking very stiff and awkward. It didn't help that I was a total klutz. I loved her laugh that I heard so many times in the videos. It was soft and airy and almost sounded like she was singing. My attempts sounded like a dying goat.

One thing I did pick up was her love of music. She was a professional at playing piano and gave lessons on the weekends. My fingers couldn't move fast enough on the keys to play complex pieces but I could play simpler ones easily. I think she'd be proud at my efforts. I was much better with string instruments. The violin and cello are my favorites. My father encouraged me to join my school music group but I kept making excuses. I got too nervous around people and would forget the basics of playing.

After my shower, I dressed in my school uniform. Typical navy knee-length skirt and tie with a white blouse. Since it was a chillier day, I wore my navy blazer and thick stockings. The typical private school uniform that I swear is in every country. I live in Finland, by the way, hence the overly unique name. We live in the capital city, Helsinki. In case you were wondering, this isn't a translation from Finnish; it's the real deal, straight from the horse's mouth! Nearly everyone in Finland knows English as their second language if not their first. I've only met two people that weren't fluent in English. Pretty surprising, huh? Say yes!

As I went down the stairs, I heard my father yawn and the springs of his mattress groan. I smiled. I was halfway done my breakfast when my father's heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs. The front door opened then closed a moment later. He grinned at me as he entered the kitchen area, today's newspaper tucked under his arm.

"Good morning, Leena."

"Good morning," I said with a mouthful of eggs.

He merely shook his head, chuckling at my table manners. Pouring himself a cup of tea, he settled in the chair opposite from me and scanned the front page. I looked him over quietly as he read.

My father, Klaus Laaksonen, was an accountant. As I said before, his hair was brown. He always had it parted off to the side and neatly gelled down. Perched on his nose was a pair of thin wire glasses which really made him look like a dork, which he was. He was in his self proclaimed lucky suit which was a dark gray that he had offset with a blue and purple tie that I had given him for his birthday. He probably had a hundred bright and silly ties, thanks to me and my attempts at making him look less boring. I don't mean to be critical but I'm not sure what my mother saw in him. She was this fantastic person and he was, well, average.

"Wait for me after school, Leena. I'll give you a ride," he said, setting the paper down.

"Oh, thank you," I said, surprised that he offered, "I thought you were working later."

He paused, taking a sip of tea. "I am. I need to balance Mrs. Jokela's accounts. It'd be nice if you kept her company while I was there."

I rolled my eyes. "You mean keep her from talking your ear off so you can concentrate."

He furrowed his brows, a sign that I was correct, and took another sip from his cup. "No, that's not it. She's just lonely and some friendly interaction would do some good," he gave me a slight smile, "She makes great pastries."

I sighed. "Alright, I'll go,"

By the time the last bell rang, I had completely forgotten about my promise so I was surprised to see my father parked outside of the school.

"Ah…" I said to myself, "Right."

I threw my schoolbag in the back and hopped into the front seat. "How was school?" my father asked, pulling out of the spot.

"Okay, I learned to play _Fur Elise_ on violin."

"That's nice," he said, paying attention to the road. Music really wasn't his thing.

I didn't take his lack of interest personally, just like he didn't take my lack of interest in accounting personally. He loved math and numbers and all of that stuff. For me, math was evil, my worst subject in school. I used to think he was just plain weird for being so obsessed with numbers but now I get it. Before it was a sort of hobby but now he uses it to fill a void in his life, the empty space where my mother used to be. I do the same thing, even though I never properly met her, I can still feel that something's missing. I fill that void with music, of course. I challenge myself to learn harder pieces and then get to smile at my accomplishments, knowing that my mother would smile too if she were here.

"We're here," father said as we pulled into a gravel driveway. "Remember to smile. Oh, and don't stare."

"Something tells me she wouldn't notice." I said softly so he couldn't hear.

Mrs. Jokela was blind since birth. Luckily for her, she was very pretty, in her younger years of course. I vaguely wondered what I'd look like when I was ancient like her.

Father knocked at the door and waited politely, his briefcase in hand. Mrs. Jokela answered a moment later. "Yes?" she answered in Finnish.

"Hello. It's me, Mr. Laaksonen," father told her, also speaking in Finnish.

"Oh my, you're right on time."

"I've brought my daughter, Matleena, here with me."

"Oh! How lovely. Come in, come in." she stepped aside, letting us pass.

My nose was assaulted with that classic old person smell, only it was mixed with perfume and garlic. It was a decent sized house but all of the furniture crammed in made it look small. The whole place looked old fashioned but still gave off the impression that it was classy and rich. To be honest, I was surprised she didn't have forty cats walled up inside. She seemed the type.

"Everything is in the dining room," Mrs. Jokela said in her worn voice.

"Alright, thank you," he replied, leaving us alone.

I stood there uncomfortably under Mrs. Jokela's blind gaze. She smiled. "Matleena, was it?" she asked me. I nodded then realized she couldn't see me. "Yes," I said evenly.

"Take a seat, dear. Can I get you something to eat?"

"No thank you, I just had lunch."

"I made some cheese and fruit pastries the other day. I'll go get you some."

"Oh, that's not… okay."

Mrs. Jokela was already in the kitchen, making noise. She seemed to navigate well for a blind person but if I lived in a house for nearly eighty years, I'd know the place pretty well too. I wasn't sure how she got on with baking and not burning the house down though. Or finding matching clothes. She came back in carrying of tray of food.

"Thank you," I said as she set it on the table in front of me.

"Eat, eat," she ordered, "Now tell me about yourself, Matleena."

"Well, I'm seventeen years old and in my third year of high school." I replied, taking a small bite of a pastry. It was pretty good.

"Go on,"

I thought for a moment, listening to my father ruffle papers in the next room. "Uh… I like to play violin and cello."

"Oh that's wonderful, you'll have to play for me. Will you?"

I looked at her and felt sad. I could see the underlying hope on her wrinkled face; it was so apparent, I swear I could feel it. Mrs. Jokela wasn't just some blind shut-in looking for attention and ways to show off her fortune; she was just a lonely person.

"Okay, yes, I'll bring them over some time," I said softly and she beamed.

I fidgeted slightly and ate another pastry. I was about to tell her that I liked them when she spoke up. "What time is it dear?"

My eyes landed on the tall grandfather clock in the corner. "It's ten after…seven?"

"Oh, not that clock, dear, it hasn't worked since 1962."

"Oh," I said lamely and checked my watch, "4:21."

"Thank you,"

I was still staring at the clock. "Uh… I can fix it for you," I offered.

"You can?"

"Yeah, "I stood up, "I'm pretty good with mechanics."

It really wasn't hard to fix the clock. There was a weight imbalance, messing up the pendulum rhythm as well as a main gear that got knocked out of place. Ms. Jokela was ecstatic when I finished. She kept saying that I was a special young woman and so on, I almost blushed. I bet she'd appreciate_ Fur Elise _on violin too.

She went into story telling mode from then on. Talk therapy sure does work. She spoke about a bunch of things, her late husband, Eliel, and her favorite music, some of the recipes that were her specialty, and (ah ha!) she did have a cat! It was one of those hairless ones. It came trotting in, wearing a knitted sweater and nearly scared me to death. After I got used to him, he was pretty cool and less creepy. She named him Frankie, after her favorite singer, Sinatra.

Mrs. Jokela was telling me about her time in a concentration camp; somehow all old people stories lead back to some war. She was only a teenager at the time and had stayed with her mother and two sisters. She and her younger sister survived Auschwitz but she told me a really weird account. When she first arrived and was being sorted, she remembered it was raining heavily.

"But I could hear over the rain and shouts of the soldiers and the cries of the people, one voice. A little boy, screaming for his mother. He sounded younger than I, maybe ten or eleven. But then… something strange happened," she paused a moment, "I could hear the iron gates groaning loudly, louder than anything I've ever heard…"

I leaned forward slightly, completely engrossed.

"My sister told me that she saw the gates twist in on themselves as if God's hand was crushing them. But it was the boy, I think. His cries held a power," she smiled, "A strength behind them that the Nazis didn't have."

"What… happened to him?"

She blinked her milky colored eyes and shook her head. "I don't know. He was taken away. Anja said his mother was taken later too. I can only assume they were killed."

"Oh," I said quietly.

Reflecting on the tale, I started to think she was just making it up or was exaggerating. Maybe she just jumped to conclusions; it was probably the wind making the gates creak. I didn't really think about it after that day.

"Alright, all done, Mrs. Jokela," my father said, walking into the room.

We both stood. "You have such a talented daughter, Mr. Laaksonen! She's promised to play violin for me."

My father raised his brows at me, clearly surprised. "Oh… well, that's very nice. I'll be back next month… or sooner, if Matleena needs a ride for your miniature concert," he chuckled.

"Thank you for the pastries, Mrs. Jokela, "I said smiling, "It was nice meeting you."

"Of course, child."

I went to follow my father out the door but stopped, feeling sad again. There she was, being left alone and lonely. Then I did something that surprised both of us. I hugged her. I squeezed my eyes tightly, unsure of why I felt so emotional about a total stranger.

"I'll come back tomorrow," I told her, pulling away.

I heard her gasp. "Matleena!"

I opened my eyes and… wait, I opened my eyes and… What the hell? I couldn't see anything! My first thought was that all the lights went out then I realized how stupid that was. I really couldn't see! Everything was a deep impenetrable black. I was completely and totally blind.

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><p>AN: Sudden blindness what's that all about? This was basically a character background and introduction. What do you think of Matleena, so far? Nothing? Getting onto the cooler stuff next chapter! Oh, and anyone know who Mrs. J was talking about at Auschwitz? Of course you do. Let me know what you think!<p> 


	3. Chapter 2

AN: First off, thank you to Chishio for reviewing! You're awesome! And everyone else, let me know what you think! That means YOU alert people... I can see you. :P

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><p>Chapter Two: A Face That Cannot Be Forgotten<p>

For a moment I thought I had fallen into some lightless void, another dimension of total darkness but I could feel Mrs. Jokela's squishy carpet under my shoes.

"Oh, Matleena, child…"

I took a step back from her, surprised she was still there. My hands were out in front of me. I felt scared for a moment then, oddly enough, I felt curious and amazed. I've no idea why though, shouldn't I have been freaking out?

A horn honked. I looked over my shoulder where the outside would be. "Dad?"

The next few hours were so disorienting. As soon as I got in the car and heard the door slam shut, everything came crashing down on me and I started to panic. My father was taking me to the hospital and driving faster than usual. Every few minutes he'd turn to me and ask, "Anything?"

Nothing.

I rubbed at my eyes, hoping I just had a massive piece of dirt in my eye but it had no effect. How can someone just suddenly go blind? It's not like its contagious or anything! The doctors had no idea but didn't want to outright say it. I've had more tests done on me than I can count. I swear they took a liter of blood to their lab!

I'm a bit ashamed to admit it but I blamed Mrs. Jokela for my blindness. It might sound stupid but my first rational explanation was that she was a witch and cast a spell on me. Yeah, you can tell just how rational I was.

It was dark out. I could tell because I couldn't feel the sun's warmth on me anymore. I lay in the medical bed in my flimsy hospital gown, feeling more alone than ever. They made my father go home as it was after visiting hours. I shut my eyes, feeling slightly comforted. It was always this dark when I shut my eyes so it wasn't as scary. There was a growing weight in my chest; I felt so desperate and miserable.

I was woken in the middle of the night by sounds of commotion. People were scrambling around in the hall, talking urgently. My hearing had peaked slightly since the incident or whatever you'd like to call it. I could hear someone's heart machine flat-lining. It stopped and a few moments later I heard someone wheel a gurney down the hall.

When the morning came I felt a bit better than last night. I was still scared and confused beyond hell but at least I wasn't depressed. The nurse brought in a bland breakfast and offered to spoon feed me, an offer I declined. Let me tell you, it's not fun to guess what food you put in your mouth. After I inquired about last night, she informed me that the patient in the next room committed suicide. She didn't go into details and I didn't ask further.

It was boring as hell, waiting around. If my mind had been a computer it would have been on screen saver mode, you know, with the little bouncing words on the screen. The word bouncing through my head would have been: BORING! Without my eyesight, I had to occupy myself with my other senses which really weren't as interesting. All I could smell was that typical hospital smell, iodine and Band-Aids. There weren't any interesting conversations that I could hear and my sheets really weren't worth inspecting. I didn't want to talk to myself aloud; I didn't want to get thrown into the mental ward! I had heard about one blind person, a boy I think, that used a sort of sonar to see. He made clicks with his tongue and could estimate how close things were by the echo, kind of like a bat. Naturally, I tried this and as expected, I didn't get anything back. No bat powers for me…

The nurse from before was kind enough to bring in a radio for me to listen to. I didn't want to bother her by asking to tune in different stations so I ended up listening to weird folk music. It wasn't that bad after awhile. At least I could concentrate on something other than my breathing.

Father's voice was heard out in the hall, just as I was eating lunch. I dropped my fork and grinned.

"Hello, Leena," he said as he entered.

It was such a relief to hear his nasally voice. "Hey!"

"How are you feeling?"

I hesitated; I really wasn't sure. I shrugged in response and he let out a soft, 'hm'. When he spoke next, he was much closer to my bed.

"The doctor's said most of the tests were inconclusive."

"Oh."

"They aren't done testing your blood though."

"Do you know when they will be done?"

"No."

I nodded then hung my head. I chewed the inside of my cheek, thinking.

"They said you were perfectly healthy," he added.

I held back a snort. "Aside from being blind, that is."

He didn't reply.

"Can I come home yet?"

"They don't want to release you until the results from the blood work come back," he cleared his throat, "Well, I'm on my lunch break… but if you want me to stay longer I will. I'm sure the firm will understand."

The magical numbers were calling him. He loved work but knew he should be more concerned about me. I shook my head.

"No, go back. It's okay."

"Are you sure?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

He went back to his office and I went back to being bored. In the end, I decided to just take a nap to pass time. When I woke up, I was seriously annoyed that I didn't know how much time had passed. Was I sleeping for ten minutes or what? No wonder fixing that clock meant so much to Mrs. Jokela; the chimes were the only way of keeping time!

When the nurse, Alise, brought in my dinner, she told me it was six thirty. My father should be out of work by now... I couldn't stomach much of the so called meat so I ate the vegetables which were pretty tasteless.

I drifted into a place of darkness, itchy sheets and folk music. Was it hell? Yes. Yes, it was. Sometime later, the _Ievan Polkka_ came on which made me smile. I got so excited that I actually knew the song! I knew it from that one internet video of a cartoon girl singing it and spinning a vegetable. Oh, internet sensations made everything better.

Father came at seven then left soon after. I understood; he had a lot of work to do and sitting around was making him feel anxious. Just being in the room with him made _me_ anxious too! Test results still weren't ready. This was so frustrating. It was getting harder to distract myself. Just before the visiting hours were up (eight o' clock), someone walked slowly into my room.

I sat up in bed, waiting for them to speak. It wasn't Alise; I'd have heard her shoes clicking on the floor. Could it be a doctor, here to deliver bad news? Did I have a disease? A terminal illness? Did I have a week to live, or less?

"Hello?" I called out.

The person sighed then walked further into the room. "Hello, Matleena," said a voice in Finnish.

I gulped. It was Mrs. Jokela.

"What are you doing here?"

I sounded rude but, remember, I still hadn't ruled out my wicked witch theory. I was casually searching for the call button.

"I had to thank you, dear," she said softly.

"For what…?" I asked hesitantly.

"You gave an old woman something I could never ask for, child. But at such a high cost to you…"

"What are you talking about?"

"You have lovely eyes, Matleena."

I couldn't say I felt numb or stunned at what she said, it was quite the contrary. I felt everything all at once. Scared, confused, shocked, sad, excited, angry and a mix of other emotions I couldn't even start to sort out.

"Why did you do this to me?"

"Oh, no, child. I did nothing. It was _you_ that did this. You took my blindness from me."

That was impossible. How the hell could I do that? She had to be lying! She had to be… but I believed her.

"How…?"

"A miracle, child. A miracle that I cannot let stand," Mrs. Jokela said sadly, "I debated coming to see you but you had been so kind. I couldn't let you live with my impairment."

I suddenly felt very sad. It must have been the sad tone in her voice that rubbed off on me. I had always cried during sad parts in movies no matter how many times I'd seen it. I guess it was the same for real life too.

"You let me see for an entire day. I could look at my wedding picture and see my darling Eliel," her voice cracked slightly, "But you, Matleena; you were the first person I've ever seen and will be the last. Thank you, child. I'll never forget your pretty face."

I nodded, not knowing what to say.

"I'm ready," she said.

I didn't move. If I really did take her blindness somehow, I had no idea how to give it back or if I even _could_. "I... I'm not sure how," I admitted. "I've never done this before."

"Healers transfer with a touch. When you embraced me, I gained my sight, perhaps another touch will return it to you?"

Hell, it was worth a shot. Maybe she _was_ a witch and was just going to make it seem like I was doing it… I don't know! I held out my hands and she put hers in mine. I waited for some miraculous moment but nothing happened. I sighed.

"Trust yourself," she urged, sounding very serious. What was she, my mentor?

I took her words to heart even though I felt foolish. I sat up a bit straighter and squeezed her wrinkled hands tighter. Come on… come on…

You know how a movie fades to black just before the credits? What happened next was just like that, only backwards. I couldn't believe it. I could see. Mrs. Jokela smiled, blind again. I let go of her, afraid that it would reverse. I feel a bit selfish to admit it but at the time, I didn't feel guilty about taking back my sight.

"It worked," I said lamely.

She nodded, "Will you still visit?"

"Um, sure,"

I never got to keep that promise, leaving me with a pit full of remorse. It wasn't my fault exactly, as you'll see. No, actually, it _was_ my fault, there's no getting around it. But I'm jumping ahead. Sorry.

I waited until Mrs. Jokela left before I buzzed for the nurse. Alise almost fell over when I told her I could see again and ran off to get the doctor. You'd think they wanted me to stay blind, the way they reacted. The medical staff was annoyed that they hadn't found out why I went blind but now, they were almost angry. Total chaos and scurrying. Questions and more tests! It was ridiculous! You'd think I was hiding the secret of my recovery from them… Oh, right.

I didn't mention Mrs. Jokela. Apparently she didn't sign in so they didn't catch on. As if I could tell them the truth! I'd be better off saying a fairy flew in and I wished for better eyes!

Father came in around nine after they had called him. He rushed over to me and hugged me. "Leena! I'm so happy! How did it happen?"

I looked at him, somewhat surprised at his outburst. "I… don't know."

It wasn't really a lie. I mean, I had no idea what had happened. And neither did the doctors! I'd be surprised if they did. After a few LONG hours of more questions, they concluded that I suffered a mental breakdown and imagined my blindness. Sure. I didn't dispute it. Hell, maybe I _was_ going mad. I had, after all, transferred blindness to and from someone. Maybe both me and Mrs. Jokela were crazy!

They wanted to keep me overnight for observation but my father wasn't having it. Prescription in hand, we arrived home around midnight. I wanted to tell him about what happened but couldn't bring myself to do it. I've never seen him this happy, not in real life anyway. I've only seen him smile like this in home videos, back when mother was alive.

I went to school the next day and everyone knew about my temporary blindness. It had been Ester, my big mouthed best friend. I had called her that night and told her half of the truth, I left out Mrs. Jokela, of course.

Ester practically tackled me when she spotted me in the hall. "I'm so glad you're better!" she squealed then jumped back, "Quickly! How many fingers am I holding up?"

I rolled my eyes. "I was blind, not far-sighted."

She laughed. "Still, that's so bizarre! Who goes blind then is cured in the same day?"

"Me, I guess."

"Geez, Leena! How are you not freaked out about this?"

I shrugged and she laughed again before we set off to our first class. I found myself rubbing the side of my head. "Are you okay?" Ester asked.

"Yeah, I just have a headache."

As class started, I found myself unable to focus. My headache was worsening they longer I sat there. I tried to ignore and take down notes. My hand was shaking so badly, it took a good ten minutes to copy half a page and it wasn't even legible. I was the first out the door when the bell rang. I thought walking around would help clear my head but it didn't.

"Headache, still?" Ester asked, coming up behind me.

"Yeah," I gasped, "It got worse."

"Do you want to go to the nurse?"

"No. I've seen enough nurses." I replied.

Ester grinned. "I thought you couldn't see then?"

I let out a short laugh then groaned. "Oww. Don't make me laugh. It huuuurts."

She looked serious. "Are you sure about seeing the nurse?"

"Yeah, I have a test next period. I can't miss it."

She shook her head. "Only you would complain about missing a test."

"Hey, its music class," I defended, "I like it."

"Whatever. See you in third!"

I waved and headed down into the cafeteria. The music and art classes were held on that level, through the double doors that connected to the cafeteria. Once in class, I grabbed a practice violin and sat down. There were only eleven people in my Advanced String Instruments class. I was one of four who was taking violin; the others all took guitar with the exception of a very shy girl that was learning the harp.

Miss LeCuyer strode in with her hair pulled back into her trademark bun. She was young for a teacher but was excellent. She transferred here from France last year but her Finnish was flawless.

"Good morning, class," she greeted.

"Good morning, Miss LeCuyer," we said in unison.

"Alright, I hope you all studied your pieces. Who wants to go first?"

No one raised their hand.

"Mr. Seppa, thank you for volunteering," she smiled and the reluctant student got up.

He started playing a classical guitar piece. I found it soothed my headache considerably. After a few other students played their music, my headache was nearly gone. The music calmed me down as well as the rest of the class from what I could tell.

"Ms. Laaksonen?"

Oh, right. I had a test. I stood and walked to the front of the class, still relatively calm which was unusual since I had a fear of playing in front of people. I closed my eyes, concentrating as I started playing. It was called _Nearer My God to Thee; _it's the sad song in Titanic that plays as the ship goes down. It was a relief to focus on that one song. I felt myself being drawn into the sadness of the piece; it was actually comforting to step into one emotion and completely get lost in it, even if it was sorrow.

"That was lovely, Ms. Laaksonen," Miss LeCuyer said after I was done.

I only messed up once, if you could call it that. I was so caught up in the song, I actually forgot I was playing and stopped. It was a few long seconds before I remembered where I was and started up again. When the class ended, I was the last to leave.

As I trudged up the steps, I felt my headache returning. Just brilliant. I smiled at Ester as I took my seat next to her. The intensity of my headache tripled in the first twenty minutes and was accompanied by a wave of nausea. I no longer cared about paying attention; I just was fighting the urge to vomit. I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"Are you okay?" Ester whispered.

I couldn't answer her; I didn't dare open my mouth to speak for fear that I'd puke all over my notebook. My breathing was labored. I didn't understand what was wrong with me. Did I get food poisoning from the gross hospital food? Aside from the overwhelming feeling of being sick, I felt a lot of other weird emotions. Emotions that didn't seem to fit the situation.

For a moment, I felt happy, giddy almost. I lifted my pounding head and looked to my right. Through my watery eyes, I saw two girls holding back laughter, looking at the front of the class. I followed their gaze to a rather cute boy who was smiling at them. I let out a short laugh that sounded more like a cough and my stomach lurched. I held back my breakfast but just barely.

Then suddenly I felt I felt jealous. But of what? And why? I spotted a girl with long black hair. She was glancing sideways at the boy. She must have liked him. But I didn't, so why was I feeling so angry?

Wait no, I wasn't angry. I was nervous, very nervous. My hands were shaking again and I found myself tapping my nails on my desk rapidly. Movement caught my eye. A boy in glasses was doing the same. His nose was in a textbook but not the one for this class. Was he studying? I stopped tapping on my desk.

What's going on?

I was happy again. I looked around. Was it the girls again? Or someone else that was happy. Was I happy? No, I was scared. Or was someone else scared? Why was I feeling all this? I was confused. Someone raised their hand and asked a question that I couldn't understand. Were they confused? No, I was. Right? Were we both confused? Did it matter?

I wasn't confused. No, wait, I was. I was confused and happy. No. Just confused. Confused and feeling horrible.

"Leena," someone whispered, "What's wrong?"

It was Ester. My head was spinning; my vision was seriously fucked up. I could barely think, let alone come up with a reply. Concerned. Fearful. Giddy. Worried. Anxious. Nauseous. Nauseous. Nauseous. Her eyes widened and pointed at her nose.

I didn't understand what she was trying to say until I saw the blood dripping onto my notes. I shot out of my seat which was a horrible thing to do for I nearly collapsed. My hand went to my nose, trying to wipe the blood from my face. The nosebleed wouldn't stop. Again, I feel like an idiot to say what happened next but I might as well. I started laughing.

I must have looked like a madwoman, standing there laughing my head off with blood pouring from my nose. I was vaguely aware of everyone staring at me, apprehensively. A wave of negative emotions swept over me. I felt like crying, not from the emotions but from my headache. I felt like my head was going to pop.

Everything was coming to me in flashes. It was like a strobe light was on and I could only see things in intervals. About every five seconds or so was lost on me. I just couldn't process it all.

Flash.

I was doubled over, my hands knotting in my hair.

Flash.

People were standing from their desks and moving away from me.

Flash.

Ester was crying.

Flash.

Our shy soft-spoken teacher was coming over to me. He was afraid.

When he put a hand on my shoulder, I straightened up quickly. I was afraid too. Panic was making my heart race faster, blood pounding in my ears. He said something to me but I didn't hear him. I couldn't stay here. I shoved him aside with more force than necessary. I didn't look to see if he fell because I was already out the door.

The halls were mostly empty but I scared the hell out of the few people that were wandering around. I ran in the first restroom I saw and into a stall. I didn't bother shutting the stall door. I clutched the sides of the toilet, leaning over. My head felt so heavy and my stomach seemed to be caving in. I fell to my knees, waiting to throw up but I didn't.

"Do you need help?" someone timidly asked.

Worry. Concern. Apprehension. Fear.

"GET OUT!" I yelled.

My voice surprised me. I didn't mean to be that loud or sound so livid. The girl bolted from the bathroom, screaming. I was alone. I got to my feet somehow and stumbled towards the sinks. It was difficult to turn the faucets with my shaking hands but I managed. I splashed water on my face, trying to clear the worst of the blood. I still had streaks of it running down my chin but I didn't really care.

I had to get out. Something was telling me to get the hell away from everyone. All of these emotions. They weren't mine. What was going on? I started laughing again. Or was I crying? I ran from the bathroom and down the hall.

Excitement. Fear. Worry.

"There she is!"

"Ms. Laaksonen!"

I sped up. I didn't know how I kept from tripping. I could barely concentrate. By some chance, I came to an exit. I burst through the door. I was in the faculty parking lot. Once outside, I felt slightly better. I wasn't as nauseous as before but my head was still killing me. I didn't stop to catch my breath which was coming up very short. I ran along the side of the building until I was at the front of the school.

"Leena! Leena, wait!"

I stopped but my momentum sent me to me knees. My father ran over to me from his car parked out front. Shouldn't he be at work? Why was he here? Maybe the school called to tell him I was sick? His work was twenty minutes away though; he couldn't have made it that quickly.

Panic. Concern.

He helped me to my feet and half dragged me to the car. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to lessen the pain in my head. Was he driving me to the hospital? He must be, I looked bloody terrible and I felt even worse! Maybe I had a tumor or an aneurism?

The car stopped and I looked out the window. We were home? He helped me inside, looking around rather nervously. I stumbled into the kitchen, and grabbed an ice pack. It didn't help much. My father was still looking around outside but I didn't understand why or why he brought me back here for the matter.

The phone rang which made me cringe. It rang a number of times then our answering machine switched on. I won't bother repeating out boring greeting message. It beeped.

"Hello, Mr. Laaksonen?" a man's voice said, "It's Dr. Nylund. I tried reaching you at your office number and left a message. I'm not sure if you got it. This is about your daughter. Normally, I wouldn't do this over the phone but… I have reason to think you're in danger."

At that moment, my head cleared a bit, no thanks to the ice. I stared at the answering machine, my mouth open slightly, interested in what he was going to say. Danger?

"The results came back from your daughter's blood tests. I don't know how to say this… but we found something wrong with her DNA. She has something we call an X-gene… I'm sorry, Mr. Laaksonen, but you're daughter's a mutant."

I turned slowly to see my father staring at me from the doorway. His face was pale and he looked as sick as me. I couldn't tell if my heart was pounding or if it had stopped.

Fear. Fear. Fear.


	4. Chapter 3

AN: It's been awhile… I know. I had a dream about Logan so I had the urge to continue this. So here we are. Enjoy!

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><p>Chapter Three: The Day I Disappeared<p>

The mutant scare really wasn't as enormous here in Finland. It couldn't compare to the United States or some of the larger, more populated European countries where mutations were more numerous. I remember a kid, I don't even know his name, that went to my elementary school. He was quiet and very shy. One day he stopped coming to school. I thought he was really sick but that wasn't the case. I found out they suspended him because he was a mutant. It was very hush hush; I heard about it a year later. No one saw him again but the scary part was that his parents still live here. If asked, they say they never had a son.

As I stood in the living room, my ice pack numbing my hand, I wondered what my father would say if someone asked if he had a daughter. What would my mother have said? I'm sure she'd say "Of course, she's right here". What would Ester say if asked about her best friend? Would I be there to answer for her? Or would I disappear, just like the boy from my grade school?

Some years ago, a woman from my father's firm was identified as a mutant. The police came swarming in and arrested her. Like the boy from my school, she was never heard from again. Her husband apparently raised hell; I was too young to remember it on the news. He disappeared shortly after. My father knew the risks of aiding a mutant.

It turns out, I did disappear. All mutants do eventually, right? My father had gotten the message that Dr. Nylund left at his office and he knew what I was when he drove me home. Again, I feel guilty because I honestly thought he didn't care that much about me. But he did. He had emptied his bank account and was actually coming to get me from school. My father gave up everything to keep me safe and we both disappeared that night, together.

It was dark out and very late, or early, depending how you thought of it. My headache had nearly subsided and I was starting to feel sane again. Not many people have to look around their room, and pick and choose what to keep, the keeping pile being whatever can fit in the car. I only packed bare essentials, what choice did I have? A few sets of clothes, my mother's picture, a few of our home videos (in the hopes that I'll find a working VCR somewhere), my violin, and a few other nostalgic items.

Not to sound materialistic but, it was difficult leaving things, my cello especially. I had gotten it last year for my birthday and loved it. I was just getting pretty good too. Sadly, it was way too big to lug around and a bit of a giveaway. I mean, how many people travel around with a cello in their backseat? I left it on my bed with a sticky note, donating it to my school's music department. I highly doubted that it'd make it there.

Once I was packed I knew what I needed to do. I needed closure. My father said not to call anyone and to turn off my mobile. They could trace the signal and we would have been dead meat. We ended up tossing our mobiles in the back of a truck while driving. Good luck to the police that end up searching for us in farm country!

My best bet for closure was letters. I was sure someone would search the house and probably take them for evidence but there was a chance they'd reach the recipients. I wrote a letter to Ester, how could I not? She had been my best friend since elementary. I'll skip the details of the letter; I'm nearly in tears just recounting it. I wrote another letter to this one boy, Ludvigs Ozolins. I had had the biggest crush on him since freshman year. I always dreamed of telling him how I felt but was too afraid of being rejected. I was an idiot. Apparently, he liked me too but I found out way too late; twelve years after I wrote that note and two years after he died in a car crash. Don't wait to say anything, trust me. I never sent him the letter, by the way. I tore it up at the last minute, reasoning that it might upset him; being liked by a mutant- disgusting! I considered writing one to Mrs. Jokela even though she couldn't read it but I ran out of time.

"Leena, we have to go," father said from my doorway.

I sat on the steps on our home, looking out into the empty street for the last time. The streetlight to my left was flickering, as it had been for the past five years. At the end of the block was a dull light coming from someone's basement. I think they were excited about something but I didn't care to know what. I'm pretty sure I was excited too, that or I was just tuning in on that person's emotions. I think that's what's happening. I'm like a radio and everyone's emotions are frequencies. If I get too close, they all swamp me and my head goes haywire.

In the car with father, everything's quiet. He's nervous and in turn, making me nervous. It sounds silly but it felt refreshing to be sneaking off as if we were going on vacation which we were, a permanent vacation. I felt like we were a couple of spies, sneaking off on a secret mission. But in reality, we were more like a pair of escaped criminals- Finland's most wanted! The truth behind that statement didn't scare me until later that day, when I realized there was no turning back.

The radio has been off for the past few hours so father could concentrate. The silence had just made me feel awkward and allowed my mind to wander. The sun was beginning to rise. I wondered if the police knew we left yet, if anyone saw us driving away, what Ester would say when she found out about me, about what I was. I was somewhat glad that I didn't get to see her reaction to my 'condition'; it'd break my heart if she started to hate me. It's not like I_ chose_ to be a mutant. I was still the same person, right?

Once we entered the next town, we pulled into this used car lot. My father told me to wait in the car as he went to talk to this dirty looking man. He came and inspected our car, giving me a grin; he was missing a few teeth. Next thing I knew, my father told me to help unload our luggage. We traded our car for another older one which was smart since our car and license numbers were on record.

We stuck to back roads, stopping only when necessary for bathroom breaks. We drove through a fast food place and bought a load of hamburgers and sides so we wouldn't have to stop frequently. Once on the highway, he told me where he planned to go- for awhile I was worried he didn't have a plan. We were headed to Russia- two people, big country, easy to lose so it made sense. But we couldn't head straight there; border patrol would definitely be looking for us. Russia was the obvious destination since Sweden was too small a country for us runaways.

Our home was in Helsinki, as I said before, which is located at the very bottom of Finland. Father decided to travel northwest, away from Russia to confuse any who might have seen us. The first night, father didn't stop driving. He just drank coffee and kept going, afraid to stop for too long. I've never seen him this wrecked.

The next morning, as I was eating my breakfast of a cold hamburger, I listened to the radio. My father asked to hear the news station. We listened with both anxiety and dread. There was no mention of us but that didn't bring me relief. They were looking for us, that was certain. We stopped in Pori that afternoon; we'd been avoiding cities but we had to stop. Father rented a cheap hotel room to sleep. He encouraged me to take a nap but I couldn't.

There was a knock at the door, making me jump. I looked at my father, still snoring. They knocked again and the blood drained from my face. What do I do? I went to the door hesitantly. There wasn't a peep hole so I pressed my cheek to the door, trying to listen. I heard nothing… but felt concern.

"Yes?" I said softly.

I jumped back as a paper was slid under the door. It was a page from the _Satakunnan Kansa, _the local newspaper. Circled in red was a black and white picture of my father in his work clothes and a picture of me from my freshman year in high school. Also in red was the word_ toimia_, the Finnish word for 'run'.

I woke my father immediately and we practically ran out of there. As we drove, I could hear sirens. I was shaking so badly as was father. I honestly thought we'd get caught but we just escaped, barely. We didn't stop that night. I ended up switching places with father, after much protest from him, and drove through the next few hours as he slept.

After that sighting, we changed course, now heading northeast, towards the center of Finland. Traffic began to slow then stopped. I blanched as I realized we were in a roadblock. Ahead of the cars, I could see police. Father starting to wake and panic swept through him. My heart was racing. We couldn't turn back and going forward meant facing them.

"Try to stay calm," father told me, "We're going to meet your mother in Laukaa."

I nodded, feeling sick to my stomach. The people in the other cars were getting to me; their confusion and anger and fear. Fear. I hated the feeling of fear, the growing cold pit in my guts. I furrowed my brows and took a deep breath.

"Turn on the radio," I told me father, "Please. It helps, I think."

He did so and I found I could think a bit better, only a little though. My knuckles were white as they gripped the steering wheel. The line of cars moved and I carefully edged closer to the police inspection. Finally, the moment of discovery came. I pulled the car up to the roadblock and an officer bent down to the window. I rolled the window down and tried to give him a smile.

"What's going on?" I asked.

His expression was stern, his tone business-like. "Just a routine traffic inspection. May I see you license, ma'am. You look a bit young to drive."

I gave him my fake ID, hoping he didn't notice how my hand shook. My father leaned over as he was examining the ID and spoke, "We were just heading over to visit my wife in Laukaa," he smiled.

The officer regarded him and handed me the license. "That's an awful lot of luggage for a visit."

I gave him a wide grin, clenching my teeth at the pain of being too close to all these people. "That's what my father said," I laughed, "I can never travel lightly."

"Would you mind if I looked in your trunk?" He wasn't really asking permission.

"Sure, okay." I popped the trunk from the driver's seat and the officer went to the back of the car.

I tried thinking of everything we had in there. Did I have anything with my real name in it? I was shaking as we waited, father too. Eyes forward, we didn't move. I considered driving through the wooden barrier. There were three police cars; surely, they'd catch us. What would they do? Arrest us? Kill us?

The officer closed out trunk and came back to the driver's window. "You play the violin, Miss Pentii?"

I held my breath, "I'm trying to learn, yes." I mentally cursed myself, realizing my violin was worn with use. Would he catch my lie? He finally gave a small smile, "My girlfriend plays. It's a beautiful instrument."

I smiled.

"You take care."

"Thank you," I breathed as he turned to signal the others to lift the barrier.

As we drove through, I felt a weight life off my chest. My father sighed and blessed himself, "Thank God in heaven."

Finally, we decided to rest at another motel; we were both too exhausted to go on. The motel was nice with two beds and a bathroom. I didn't feel any negative feelings from anyone we passed so I didn't think they recognized us. I was starting to get a headache as I lay awake in bed though. I wanted to go to sleep but it proved near impossible. My headache was mounting but somehow I managed to fall asleep, or perhaps I passed out. I'm not sure. I awoke to my father talking to a bellboy.

It was time to go. I showered and changed then we were off. We made one stop to get food and supplies then kept driving, taking the less populated routes. It stayed like that for some time. Luck had it that we avoided the police. About a month after we went on the run, we were recognized. We had been in the city of Oulu when my father was pulled over. It was obvious that the officer recognized us. Just as the man walked up to our car, my father floored it! The chase was on!

We had expected out luck to run out at some point so we packed a carry bag filled with our absolute necessities: money, change of clothes, non-perishable food… my mom's picture. I was shaking with so many emotions, most not even my own. Oulu was a major city in Finland and every major city has afternoon traffic. We stopped and my father turned to me.

"We have to run!"

I nodded as we grabbed our travel bags, mine was a backpack. We jumped out of the car and ran, the officers doing the same, guns drawn. I weaved through cars, following my father. He had no idea where he was going but we had to stay together.

My head was pounding as hard as my heart. We ducked into an alley to catch our breath. I didn't know if I could go on. Father put a hand on my shoulder. I looked up at his face. He looked tired, his hair a mess.

"We must keep going," he said softly, "It's not safe."

"When will it be?" I couldn't help but ask.

He frowned and looked away. "Soon, Leena… soon."

I didn't have to have mutant empathy to know he was doubtful. We knew the truth but fought it anyway. No matter how far you run, no matter where you hide, you're never safe, not if you're a mutant, like me. I nodded at him and straightened, readjusting my backpack. Father squeezed my shoulder encouragingly and we set off. We ran and didn't stop.


	5. Chapter 4

So basically whenever I dream about Logan, I have to write a chapter. I'm actually going to use the dream I had in a future chapter, I'll let you know when it appears. Yeah, so, enjoy.

EDIT(5/2012)- I had so many typos in this chapter. I apologize! Hopefully they're all gone now!

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><p>Chapter Four: Lady Luck Must Be A Mutant<p>

We escaped from Oulu but just barely. Roadblocks were everywhere and the police kept multiplying. They eventually put the city on lockdown, hoping to trap us but we took the last train out. We headed north with relatively no plan. Escaping to Russia was seeming less possible. We had bought train tickets to St. Petersburg but turned back when we saw the station crawling with police. It's a wonder no one recognized us.

Officially, we're labeled as 'Armed and Dangerous' which is the biggest lie ever. My mutation isn't even remotely dangerous, well, not to others. And I doubt father would even know how to use a gun. Why couldn't they just leave us alone?

To avoid another Oulu mishap, we changed our appearances. Father cut his hair very short and tried to not use his glasses in public. He also only dressed in casual clothes which was odd; I've never seen him dressed so informally aside from his plaid night clothes. I cut my hair short as well, up to my ears and dyed it black; normally I stuff it under a cap and pretend to be a boy. I'm not sure how convincing a boy I make though, something I'm half glad about.

For the past few weeks, we've hopped around hotels, still heading north. With our family savings, we were able to choose nice hotels with separate beds but as of late, they've gotten less accommodating. Currently, we're in this small room with old wallpaper and the most repugnant smell that's close to urine. I insisted that father took the bed since he has a bad back; I'm unable to sleep anyway. There's too many people around, I can't relax or think straight.

Being an accountant has its perks. One of my father's clients had recently died; an old man with little family who just happened to have a good amount of money saved up. After seeing his obituary in the paper, father was able to use the man's account to purchase our new train tickets to Russia; he figured it'd be less suspicious if a real name bought them rather than an anonymous figure. Once anyone realized what happened, we'd be long gone; that was the plan at least.

Since we had been sighted in Oulu, police activity had tripled. Despite my protests, father insisted we split up so we looked less suspicious. I stood on the platform, feeling sick to my stomach; the longer I stayed around these people, the worse I felt. So many people were there, all feeling so many things… I shut my eyes, swaying slightly on the spot.

People started moving, boarding the train. Holding my backpack tightly, I followed them. I passed a number of stands along the side with woman selling food. My stomach growled at the smells and I gave in, my hunger pushing through my illness. I bought a small cup of soup and bread then boarded the train. I found my compartment with surprising ease. Father had gotten me a first class ticket so I could distance myself from the people. He didn't know what I was going through but he did listen and sympathize. I felt bad that he decided to cram in with the folks in second class. What if someone recognized him? I wouldn't know and vice versa. It was so risky.

There was a knock at my compartment door then it opened immediately. An officer. I tried to look calm and boyish.

"Ticket."

I gulped and pulled it from my pocket. He looked it over then asked for my ID. Crap. We hadn't a chance to change them again. I had no choice but to give him my old fake ID. I held my breath as he glanced between the ID and me.

"Traveling alone, Miss Pentii?" he finally asked, not a trace of a smile on his face.

"Yes," I said evenly. "Visiting my grandparents."

"Where do they live?"

I hesitated, being unfamiliar with Russian geography. The train was to take us to Novgorod, right next to Moscow so I decided to be safe and said, "In the capital."

He gave me a long hard stare and handed me back my ID. He left without another word and shut the door. I was scared out of my mind. Had he seen through my lie? Did he know it was a fake ID? Had father been caught? I sat there stiffly, feeling sick with fear. I expected him to march back in with more officers in tow, ready to shoot me dead on sight. The window in the compartment didn't open so I had no alternative but to sit there and take it.

I shut my eyes, waiting, for what seemed like an eternity. The officer didn't come back. The train started moving. My shoulders sagged slightly as I started breathing again. Although we weren't out of the clear just yet, it seemed like the immediate danger had passed.

I tried ignoring the worst of the emotions that settled in me. Even in my own compartment, I couldn't shake the gnawing in my stomach nor the biting in my head. Despite my growing discomfort, I started eating the food I bought. The soup was spicy but the buttered roll cooled it down somewhat. I'm not sure what it's called but it filled me up. After eating, I tried to take a nap. I know letting my guard down completely was stupid but… I was really tired and felt ill so it's understandable.

I woke up gradually, the train was still moving. Looking out the window, I could see dense forests and I assumed we were in Russia. My head wasn't throbbing as much; I think most of the passengers were asleep so they were giving off less emotion. When sleeping in hotels, I noticed my father still transferred emotions to me when dreaming but they weren't as strong as waking emotions.

It was a long train ride and extremely boring. I slept through most of it. I awoke again once the train was stopped. One of the train workers came in to tell me that we arrived. My headache was coming back with a vengeance as I made my way towards the exit amid the other passengers. Once on the platform, my panic started as I searched for father. Had he been captured? Did he abandon me? What if he never boarded the train in the first place? What would I do then? I had no idea where to go or how to survive in a foreign country.

Just as I started to shake as people bumped into me as they passed, a hand fell on my shoulder. I spun around to see my father's face and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Time to move," he said softly.

I held onto the sleeve of his coat so I wouldn't get lost as we waded through the crowd to get off of the platform. Novgorod was a relatively big city with many old historic buildings and statues. We didn't have time to sightsee, not that I complained much. Big cities meant many people and thus, many emotions. I started feeling sick again, about as horrible as when I ran out of school. For a moment, I thought of Ester and wondered how she was doing but couldn't dwell on it for long.

We got onto a trolleybus and took it to… I'm not really sure. I could barely walk straight, let alone pay attention to where we were going. Luckily for us, my father's accounting firm did a lot of business with Russia, thus his fluency in the language. He knew four languages that I knew of: Finish, English, Russian and German. I, of course, only spoke two. Can you guess which?

I was shaking very badly; my teeth started chattering as a few hot flashes swept over me. This wasn't normal. My head felt so heavy as if it were made of lead. I went into an almost fetal position, my head on my knees. I was both hot and cold at the same time. So dizzy. So dizzy…

Angry. Happy. Nervous. Anxious. Anxious. Concerned.

"Is she okay?" a woman asked.

"She's not feeling well," father replied quickly, laying a hand on my hunched back.

Nervous. Nervous. Nervous.

Father had to support me as we got off at our stop. I'm not sure how we made it to the hotel but we did. I nearly ran to the bathroom to relieve my stomach. I felt a bit better but my excruciating headache remained. After a few hours, I was able to function and work through the pain.

This was going to be our home, Russia. We needed an actual house, what's more is that we needed money. While I was resting, father went out and bought some food at a nearby market to hold us over. He also told me that the dead man's account had been emptied by him. It wasn't enough to buy a house, even a small one but we needed to multiply it. I couldn't believe his suggestion—gambling.

I had to trust his judgment; it's not like I had any better ideas. We stayed in the hotel for the next week. I stayed in the room while he went out and did things. It made me nervous, being alone, not knowing if something had happened to him. But he returned each night with dinner and more news.

We got new passports. I was now called Hannele Ivanov. It was comforting, to use my middle name. At least it was something familiar.

Father found his way into a gambling ring- illegal. I don't know how he made so many shady connections but I didn't stop to question it. The first night he lost most of our money. The second night he won some back. Then the third, he lost what he had won and more. Things weren't looking so good… I think the thought of becoming a hobo in Russia was so frightening, I decided to suggest something that I never thought I would.

"Could I go?" I asked on the fourth day.

He looked at me surprised then shook his head. "No," he said firmly. "I won't have my daughter involved in this."

Worry. Fear.

"It's my fault we're in this," I protested. "I could help. I could tell you what the other people were feeling. If they felt confident or not."

"I'm sorry, Lee- _Hannele_," he said, stressing my fake name. He made it a point not to use our real names, even in private. "Thank you for trying to help but I must go alone."

And he did that night as I lay in bed, trying not to go insane. There was a couple fighting in the room above us. Aside from the shouts and crashes, I could feel their anger and resentment. Divorce was in their future, definitely. There was also someone with a baby nearby; I could feel their irritation and anxiety as well as the child's rapidly changing feelings. Just feed that damned kid already!

It wasn't until later that day when someone in the room next to ours started playing loud music that I finally found some relief. The music was some sort of weird heavy metal techno. I normally would have scoffed at it, given my classical background, but it now sounded heavenly. I pressed my back to the wall closest to them and listened.

Father came back around ten at night, a small bag of take out in hand and a grim look on his face. He had lost more money, a lot. He didn't tell me the amount; I think he was too embarrassed.

"Tomorrow night," he said as we ate, "I'll take you there."

I felt pressured and wanted to back out but knew I couldn't. I had no other choice. We practiced subtle hand gestures that correlated with emotions. By the next night, I was fairly confident about them. Of course, I was nervous as all hell. So many things could go wrong! What if I couldn't distinguish their emotions? What if I got sick like before? What if we got caught cheating?

We left as soon as the sun went down. The gambling ring was located under a flower shop, oddly enough. The plan was to send me in first and start playing at a table. Father would come in later, lose a few games then play against me and whoever else was there. Once together, our strategy would kick in and I'd help him win everything. It was a one time deal. There was no retries or going back for more. It'd be way too risky. I mean, these weren't the type of people to cross.

I went around to the back of the place and knocked at the door three times. It opened to reveal a shirtless beefy man. At seeing me, he cracked a yellowed grin.

"Vy propala malenʹkaya devochka?" he asked in Russian.

Yeah, I'd no idea either of what he said, aside from the fact that he called me a girl. I still wasn't anywhere near fluent but I had picked up bits of vocabulary. Father made me memorize phrases to say.

"YA zdesʹ, chtoby igratʹ," I said, hoping my pronunciation was right. It meant 'I'm here to play.'

He laughed heartily, doubt and amusement radiating off of him. I'd have been angry had I not been so afraid. The man was at least a good deal taller than me; nearly double my size. No wonder he was the guard…

"Vy ?" he grinned, "Ne zastavlyaĭ menya smyeyatʹsya. Poluchitʹ poteryali ili u vas budetproblema , rebenok."

I started shaking. I had no idea what he had said but he wasn't letting me in. "YA zdesʹ, chtoby igratʹ," I repeated, my voice faltering.

The man's grin faded and he looked even scarier than before. "Provalivaĭ !" he growled at me.

I almost ran away but something rooted me to the spot. I started using his anger and annoyance as my own emotions and I didn't seem as scared. "YA zdesʹ, chtoby igratʹ!"

"Chertovski glupym rebenkom!"

"YA zdesʹ, chtoby igratʹ! YA zdesʹ, chtoby igratʹ!" I shouted, growing very livid.

The man spat at me and moved closer, looking ready to hit me but a second, smaller man came out. "Chto proiskhodit ?" he asked the guard. The large man growled something I couldn't quite hear and jerked his head towards me.

The second man smiled at me. He was much calmer, I barely could feel any emotions coming off him. It… made me nervous.

"Yestʹproblema , yunaya ledi ?" he said cooly.

I hesitated, "YA zdesʹ, chtoby igratʹ."

"Popugaĭ," the guard spat.

The calm man ignored him and stared at me in a calculating way. "Pustʹ ona igraet," he said then walked back inside.

The guard gave me a dirty look then stepped aside.

Just great, I thought as I entered the dimly lit room. That was supposed to be the easy part. There were five tables, each with a number of men at them. The room was filled with smoke and stunk of alcohol. I took a moment to regain my composure. I was here for business.

I took a seat at a table, earning a few mean looks from the other players. "Delo mne voĭti," I said. Deal me in.

They didn't argue like the guard. I'm sure they figured I had no idea what I was doing; I was easy money. They were right, of course. I learned the card game the night before and was terrible at it, but I had money, so they let me stay. It must have been an hour later when my father arrived. I didn't look at him, he had told me not to. We weren't supposed to know each other.

I was getting fidgety. The emotions of the others were weighing on me. Finally, after what seemed like forever, father sat down at my table. We played a few games, both of which one of the other men won. Another game started, everyone looked at their hands. All around dismay. Was this it?

I scratched my neck, a signal to father saying that the hands were bad. His face lit up slightly and I hoped no one saw. The game continued and one man went all in, pushing his money to the center of the table. He was bluffing. I rested my free hand on the edge of the table, letting father know. Another man gave up, setting his cards down while the other hesitantly matched the first. Nervous. Nervous. I went all in, as did father. The moment of truth, we laid down our cards. I won.

My eyes went wide. That wasn't supposed to happen. Some of the men jeered at me, father stared. I knew no one was happy with their hands but this was… luck? The men started raising hell. Father looked crestfallen.

Anger. Anger. Anger!

I was accused of cheating. The people were furious. I was overwhelmed by their anger and had to hold onto the table to keep from falling. The calm man from before broke up the mob. Whatever he said, it made them leave me alone. He approached me, again, deadly calm.

"Baryshnya povezlo segodnya. No segodnya tolʹko," he said, looking down at me. "Yesli ya vizhu, vy zdesʹ, vy ne tak povezlo."

I wasn't sure what he said, but his tone scared me. I could feel a wave of annoyance flow from him. My eyes darted to father who discreetly nodded. I muttered a quick word of thanks to the man and grabbed my winnings and left, stuffing them into my pockets.

I was shaking as I left the building, afraid that someone would follow me. I hurried along the street, realizing I was somewhat lost. Crap. Emotions hit me on all sides. Why couldn't father leave with me? I knew why, but I couldn't help but ask. By some manner of a miracle, I recognized a building and was able to find my way back to the hotel. I locked myself in the room and sighed.

The blaring music from next door soothed me but only to an extent. Now I could focus on my own troubling emotions. I worried that father wouldn't return. That someone would have known we were working together and… I kept my mind off it as best as I could. I counted my winnings, totaling about 1,008,775 rubles. Doesn't that sound impressive? Converted into American currency, to give you some perspective, it's _about_ 33,000 dollars. I probably counted it about thirty times before I heard the door jingle.

For a moment, I panicked but it was father. He locked the door behind him and gave me a hug. Relief.

"I'm so proud of you, Matleena," he smiled.

"You mean Hannele," I corrected, smiling back.

He nodded, frowning slightly, looking like his old self again. "We'll leave in the morning. So get to sleep."

I let him have the bed, and he gave me the pillow and the blanket for the floor. I didn't mind, it seemed like a fair trade. I heard father curse under his breath about the loud music but I enjoyed it. It seemed to chase away the worst of the emotions seeping through the walls. I could have my own feelings again, for a bit. As I went to sleep that night, I felt, for a moment, content and thought that things would get better for us.

Contented… and tired.

* * *

><p>Russian translations in case you were wondering. Brought to you by Google Translate!<p>

"Vy propala malenʹkaya devochka?" = "You lost, little girl?"

"Vy? Ne zastavlyaĭ menya smyeyatʹsya. Poluchitʹ poteryali ili u vas budetproblema , rebenok." = "You? Don't make me laugh. Get lost or you'll have a problem, kid."

"Provalivaĭ !" = "Get lost!"

"Chertovski glupym rebenkom!" = "Fucking stupid kid!"

"Chto proiskhodit ?" = "What's going on?"

"Yestʹproblema , yunaya ledi ?" = "Is there a problem, young lady?"

"Popugaĭ" = parrot

"Baryshnya povezlo segodnya. No segodnya tolʹko. Yesli ya vizhu, vy zdesʹ, vy ne tak povezlo." = "The young lady is lucky tonight. But tonight only. If I see you here again, you will not be so lucky."


	6. Chapter 5

AN: Thank you to everyone who has been patient enough to wait for this chapter! Your continued support spurred me to finish this one before anything else! Cheers!

* * *

><p>Chapter Five: On the Road Again<p>

After my big victory, we took our winnings and left early the next day. From Novgorod, we traveled Northwest, cutting through some cities like Izhevsk and Perm' to hit a few of the gambling rings and play our little game of luck. Once we had built up a substantial amount of money (mind you, we were still far from well off), we changed identities again. With my insistence, I was able to keep Hannele as my first name but our surname changed to Romanov.

We stuck to cheap hotels as to not attract attention but, really, we were just being overly cautious. As was our intention when we made for Russia, we were hardly on the radar of any mutant hunters. It had been just over three months since we entered Russia and the hunt for us here had long lost its steam, at least in the smaller cities. To be honest, people didn't care, I think. Mutants were very rarely spoken of here, and I think, rarely thought of. If anything, we were more likely to have a sack thrown over our heads for cheating in our gamblings.

Father was out and I was left alone in our run down hotel room. He was off on business, trying to contact a few shady characters that were supposed to help us get out of the city. Finally, father thinks we're safe. "Just a little further, Leena," he had said to me. "Just a little further and we can stop running." This was supposed to be our last stop. After this, we would head west to the Ural Mountains and settle down there. I wasn't really sure if I believed it possible—for us to ever be safe and be able to rest soundly—but father did and I'd be damned if I took that hope from him.

I stared in the water-stained bathroom mirror as I waited for father to return, the radio buzzing away in the background to set my mind at ease. I was almost certain now that the music was a fast way to control my mutation or at least make it more bearable. I still picked up on the emotions of others and at a very far range too, but the music dampened them a bit. I wasn't sure what emotion was what and it stopped them from seeping into me. With the music, I didn't have to feel them or understand them; I just knew they were there. But right now, I had to deal with my own emotions for once. I was always nervous when father went out but I normally tried to occupy myself until he came back. He always did.

As I gazed at my reflection, I hardly recognized myself. I had grown pale and taken on a sickly tone due to months of stress, hiding and hardly sleeping or eating well. My hair was now past my chin. And blonde. And no, I didn't dye it. I just woke up one morning and my roots were growing in blonde. My best guess was that I bumped into someone and we swapped hair colors—my apologies to whomever got stuck with my boring, mousy, brown hair. I don't fully understand the physical aspect of my mutation. I get that I'm empathic but how is it that I pick up on physical traits? All it took was a hug to transfer blindness and even less to transfer genes for hair. Did it happen randomly and with random people? Or was there another factor I was missing? And what is the limit? I mean could I end up a whole different person?

It scared me.

I mean I hated these empathic abilities—they were a real pain in the ass (and head!). But I was starting to understand them and learning to control them—well, at least not be slave to them.

But this was something else.

It required experimentation to understand and that required risks. Risks that I wasn't willing to take. It was like messing with a bomb or a very dangerous animal—there was no telling if things would go okay. To me, the consequences outweighed the potential pros. For now, all I did was try to prevent another accidental body swap by taking care to not touch people. That was all I could do.

The radio started fading out of the frequency and I walked over to it on the floor. I sat cross-legged and smacked it a few times. It didn't work. The radio had been out in the trash and I, longing for a distraction, nicked it and tried fixing it. It worked for the most part, but every so often would get temperamental and fizzle out. I popped the back off and—yeah, as I thought, one of the electrolytic capacitors was going. It needed replacement but I hadn't the opportunity to bring it up to father. He didn't need to be bothered by my trivial complaints. I tapped the small cardboard tube a few times as I had before but it didn't come back to life.

I stayed sitting on the floor, the dead radio in my lap and the silence of the room weighing on me. And then they started coming back, filtering through the walls. The emotions. A sharp ringing pierced my ears, created seemingly in my head and followed by a dull pain.

Annoyance.

Anger.

What was it? This one? Ah, Envy.

And then went my stomach. First butterflies, then bullets. I had to double over, holding my belly, hoping it would lessen the stabbing feelings.

Grief.

Anguish.

Anxiety.

I felt like I was going to vomit.

Fucking hell. This was the one drawback of music therapy. Once, I'm off it, the emotions hit me ten times as hard, depending on however long I've gone without them. It's sort of like suddenly taking someone off of morphine. Pain city.

I lifted my head slowly and the dizziness washed over me. I hobbled over to the bed and flopped face-down, ready to pass out and hoping to.

Joy.

Pity.

Lust.

Hatred.

Anger.

Bitterness.

Excitement.

Excitement.

Confusion.

Concern.

"Leena?"

I groaned in response. I hadn't heard father come in. The mattress sank down beside me as he sat on the bed.

"That bad?" he asked.

"Mmm."

I felt his hand on my back, trying to sooth me but I flinched. I couldn't afford to make physical contact with anyone. I hadn't told him of my worries—he worried enough as it was, I should know. He didn't seem to take offense to my recoiling, simply assuming it was due to my emotional overload.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"_Ader an ill_," I mumbled into the pillow.

"What was that?"

I lifted my head. "Water and pill," I repeated then added, "Please."

Father nodded and went into the bathroom. He came back with a sleeping pill and a plastic cup of water. I muttered a thanks and downed the pill. I only took them when it was unbearable, when sedation was a better option than toughing through it.

"I have news, Leena. Are you still awake?"

I rolled onto my side.

Excitement.

"We will leave soon," he told me. "In the next few days. I'm waiting to hear from a man in the Urals. He's interested in renting a house. He wants to help us."

"Mm, that's good."

"Once I get word, we can leave. Can you still hear me, Leena?"

* * *

><p>Word came two days later, and I found myself with my sad little backpack of belongings. I was walking with father down the street from the hotel. It was night which worked to my favor since most people were asleep and their emotions less potent.<p>

We took a trolleybus to the edge of the city and waited in the dark for the man we were trusting with our lives. Father had heard of him through a connection through a connection, and only spoke to him a few times. We stood in the cold for some time, maybe twenty minutes before a pair of headlights appeared.

An old, red truck rattled up in front of us and stopped, idling for a moment before the driver's door opened and a man half stepped out.

"Romanov?" he called. "Desya Romanov?"

Father nodded and said something in Russian. "Stay here," he whispered to me and took a few steps closer to the truck. The two spoke in Russian for a few minutes before father looked over at me and nodded, waving his hand to tell me to come on.

I squeezed into the cramped back seat that was more fit for luggage than people. The man turned to look at me briefly. He nodded and said in a gruff voice, "Privet." Hello. I returned the greeting in an even tone. Despite father's trust for the man, I couldn't give mine out so quickly.

As we began to drive down the darkened road, the truck lurching every so often, I tried studying the man behind the wheel. I think he was older than my father, mid-fifties at best. His hair was dark and greased back, grey framing the sides. He wore a thick brown coat with mangy-looking fur rimming the hood. His eyes were a light color, probably blue, and set under thick brows. Deep-set wrinkles lined his face, more so from stress than age, I think—there's just a difference between frowning and scrunching up your face too often and sagging skin.

I tried to tune into his emotions like I did in poker games, to see if he'd let something slip, but it was hard to differentiate his from everyone else's. There was excitement and nervousness coming in strongly and I figured that was from father. As we entered the countryside, I found my head clearing, the crowded, city emotions were fading. Still, enough remained that I couldn't quite make sense of them all.

I felt myself drifting, lulled by the truck's rocking and the sound of the tires on the pebbles in the road. I fell asleep but only for a short time. The truck door closed and I jolted up. Father's hand was on my knee, trying to shake me awake.

"Are we there?" I asked groggily.

"Not quite," father replied. "We will rest here for tonight."

I looked out the window to see where 'here' was. It was a small, weathered, house, beside an old gas station and shop. I didn't think either were running. I watched the driver walk up to the door and from the light inside, saw an old woman answer, pulling him into a hug.

"Come, Leena."

I crawled out of the backseat, dragging my pack with me. I followed father up to the house where the man and woman were waiting.

Uncertainty.

Worry.

Fear.

Anticipation.

Relief.

Excitement.

My felt a heart burn coming on and my head started ringing. I was still loads better off than back in the hotel.

The woman was very old with short white hair and dark eyes. I couldn't make out the relationship between her and the truck guy. She was old enough to be his mother but they might have just been friends, or something like that.

Father translated for me—the woman only spoke Russian. I was to call her Kat. She was kind and welcoming and laughed a lot. In a way, she reminded me of Mrs. Jokela.

The man said little, mostly in Russian but I found he knew English. His name was Gavril. He was the man we would be renting from. If anything, he just seemed very tired.

Kat steered me away once father and Gavril started talking business and sat me down in her small orange kitchen. She talked a lot although she knew I had no idea of what she was saying. I tried to smile. She gave me a bowl of something hot—a type of borsch, I think—hot beets and a cream sauce. I thanked her and started eating. Kat seemed like the type that missed having children, missed having someone to care for. That or she was trying to keep me out of the men's hair.

About an hour later, after two cups of tea and a story in Russian, I found myself being hauled upstairs. I looked at father for help and he offered a small smile before following me. Kat gave me an old room—small and crammed with dolls. She left us alone.

"Gavril says we will leave in the morning," father told me. "We should reach the house by nightfall."

"Father… do they, know about me?" I asked nervously. "Do they know what I am?"

Father went rigid and shut the door. "No," he whispered. "No one must know, Leena."

I nodded and father gave my shoulder a squeeze. I resisted pulling away. "Sleep, Le—_Hannele_."

"Good night."

When father left, I stood there uneasily, glancing around at the dolls watching me with glass eyes. I sighed before putting out the light and crawling into bed. I pulled the blankets up to my chin and started to doze off, breathing in the scent of a stranger's sweet perfume with the hope that tomorrow would bring us freedom and a home.

* * *

><p>The next morning began with snow so we had to move out quickly. We needed to make the most of the drive during the day before the temperatures dropped and the roads iced over.<p>

The drive was dismal and long, with few stops that consisted of peeing behind a tree and once when I had to throw up after passing another car full of hormonal teens. I said I was carsick. I wouldn't say I trusted Gavril but after he gave me a handful of peppermints for my stomach, I distrusted him a little less.

The scenery was mostly dense forests, an occasional field. We followed a river slightly south before heading up a mountain trail into the Urals. The temperature fell, the air grew thinner and the snow came down more heavily. I would hear Gavril curse every so often, at the weather, I think and father would ask if everything was okay. He'd merely grunt or nod in reply or mutter, "Damn snow."

I was too alert to try and sleep and for once, I felt almost okay. There were hardly any people, only a few trails of chimney smoke that I saw and far away. Father must have chosen this location for me. It seemed I could only rest easy in the middle of nowhere. Just another mutant, another animal in the wilderness.

My forehead pressed against the cool glass of the small side window as I watched the deep green trees wiz by. This was going to be home. Cold, isolated, but safe.

I thought of my best friend and wished she were here. We had always talked about traveling together, backpacking across Europe and seeing the marvels like Paris and Rome. I really missed Ester and hoped that I could see her again when things settled down, when things were safe.

But I never did. Many years from this day, I went to see her on a whim. She was grown and a young woman, a wife and mother. I watched her from afar, too afraid to make a move and show myself. Ester had her hair cut short and curled—it suited her. She was smiling and I didn't want to intrude into the world she made for herself. It was selfish of me to come back to Finland. I turned and made to leave when I heard her call out.

"Matleena!"

My heart skipped a beat and I whipped around.

Ester laughed and knelt down with her arms open. "Matleena, darling, we must go!"

A small girl bounded into her arms and my friend laughed, resting her chin on the girl's shoulder. Ester's eyes roamed over me for a moment but gave no second look. My appearance was drastically different from the schoolgirl she once knew. She'd never recognize me.

Ester stood, lacing their hands and walking off. I stood rooted to the spot, tears on my cheeks, and watched them go—my once best friend and her daughter, my namesake.

But here, as I sat in the back of the truck as it made its way deeper into Russia, I thought of no bittersweet moments, only the hope of normalcy.

I spotted a doe on the side of the trail and smiled. It watched us carefully, one ear bent backwards as we passed.

I unzipped my backpack and rifled through the items. I had lost nearly everything dear to me back in Oulu when we had to abandon our car but what remained was precious—a framed picture of my mother. I ran a finger along the glass then wiped away my fingerprint smudge. She gave me hope in these times. Keep going. Don't give up. My heart swelled and I tucked the picture back inside. I didn't want to cry here, in front of my father and Gavril. So I simply sat and watched the snow pile up well until sunset.

* * *

><p>The rubbery squeak of the windshield wipers on glass was the only sound as we drove. Night had fallen and the snowstorm raged on. Gavril was growing steadily more anxious and worried as he tried to concentrate on driving and father was just as concerned. I focused on breathing.<p>

There were a few times when we'd hit a patch of ice and the few nerve-racking seconds of slow sliding was enough to send me into an agony. I resorted to curling into a ball on the seat and holding my breath. I would have chewed up a sleeping pill but father said we were nearly there, only a half hour's time so I stuck it out. I didn't think him capable of carrying me from the truck to the house.

Finally, we arrived. The truck pulled up in front of a small, wooden cabin. Gavril led the way, unlocking the door and showing us in. It was very cold inside with little difference from the outdoor temperature. After turning on the lights (I was surprised the electricity worked), they tried getting a fire started.

The cabin was furnished and stocked with some food—I was told the previous owner left in a hurry. I think the woman got married and dropped everything.

After the fire was going in the hearth, Gavril said his goodbyes, telling father that he'd check in tomorrow if the storm let up.

Once alone, father and I simply sat in the tiny kitchen, _our_ tiny kitchen, the last few months reeling by in our minds. The kettle was on and started to whistle. I cut it off before it could climb to a shriller tone and poured us both a cuppa. I sipped on the tea, careful not to burn my lips or tongue.

"We've done well, Matleena," father said.

I nodded a few times.

"You can pick your room, if you like."

I smiled. "Alright."

I stood and left him to his thoughts, feeling the doubt try to creep in over his relief. There were two rooms upstairs and a bathroom. I chose the smaller of the two and didn't unpack anything. In the back of my mind, I was still a wanted mutant, ready to run in a moment's notice. I sat on the bed and pulled back a curtain. In the blackness of the night, I could only see the snowflakes that flew close by my window.

I set my mug on the dresser and walked around, after an hour, I felt comfortable enough to take off my shoes. There was a small radio in the closet. I turned it on and sat on the bed, tuning it in. I caught a station that came in half hazy but smiled. It was a heavy metal station. It would do. I sat the radio on my bedside table and grabbed my mug of tea, curling my legs under my bum to warm my feet. I leaned back against the bed frame and breathed.

Deep in the forests of Russia, high in the Ural Mountains, in a little, wooden cabin, I finally felt at peace. And it was my own feeling.


End file.
